Sunday, December 02, 2007

So this is Christmas

What have you done?

I haven't done much, myself. We had a snowstorm today, but I am unable to take advantage of it.

The universe is shaped exactly like the earth. If you go straight long enough, you'll end up where you were.

I'm sick, you see.

Missed a nice party at Stanette's friend's house last night, as well as a cajun boil over at Bells.

Merry Christmas. I can't breathe. My lungs are filled with fluid. I can't sleep because I can't breathe. I have four different kinds of prescription drugs, but they aren't really doing much for my inability to breathe. God bless my doctor friend for faxing in the scripts for me. It's good to have friends.

I slept three hours last night, not that I sleep very much on any given night, but it's worse tonight. Here I am again, at 3:30 on Christmas morn, listening to Modest Mouse after another 3 hours of sleep. Ugh. Or, more appropriately, phlegm.

Little Doodlebug is here, chirping and purring at me.

So, the dashboard melted, but we still have the radio.

Mostly prone, I have watched Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels, Mission Impossible III, Lord of War, Superbad, Snatch and a sepecial on Yellowstone on PBS. God bless cable. SUperbad was cute. Kind of a 16 Candles for a new generation.

During Mission Impossible, I picked up the bass and learned to play that theme song. When Stanette was preparing dinner, I played it, adding a sense of urgency to the proceedings. I am sure my vocal "doodley-doo's" lent some gravitas.

--
So we're drinkin' drinkin' drinkin' drinkin' coca coca cola
I can feel it rolling right on down
Oh right on down my throat now
As were headed down the road towards tiny cities made of ashes
I'm gonna get dressed up in plastic
Gonna shake hands with the masses, oh no!

Does anybody know a way that a body could get away?
Does anybody know a way?

We're going down the road to tiny cities made of ashes
I'm going to hit you on the face
I'm going to punch you in your glasses

I'm wearing myself a t-shirt that says
The world is my ashtray
Our hearts pump dust and our hair's all grey
And I just got a message that said
Yeah, hell has frozen over.
I got a phone call from the lord saying,
Hey boy, get a sweater, right now!



(I can't get enough of that song^. It's called Tiny Cities Made of Ashes, by the aforementioned Modest Mouse.)

Merry Christmas.

I am going to continue my Santa stakeout.

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